


Warm Welcomes

by sadsparties



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is welcomed to the Combeferre household, but he must work for it. A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/893660">Homecoming</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Welcomes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hamstr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamstr/gifts).



> Written for my dear Hammy. Happy birthday!

It was the winter of 1829 and they were home.

For Enjolras, it had taken a total of five minutes to admit to himself that the house was where his heart lay. With Combeferre leading the way, it took them five minutes to climb down from the wall, cross the orchard, and enter the library. Home, indeed.

Winter was not so cold in Poitiers. The mountains protected the town from the harsh November winds, but to Enjolras, the lack of cold was not from the absence of winds, but from the warmth enveloping the Combeferre residence. The house, it seemed, was made of welcome.

Introductions were made, smiles exchanged, and embraces long held. Enjolras had the grace to look away when Combeferre’s mother pinched her son’s cheeks, but it did not stop him from noticing the hint of red behind his friend’s ears.

“Do I really eat so little?” Combeferre asked when they were finally let alone. The fire was cackling properly, and Enjolras turned to it to hide his spreading grin. “It would please your mother to know that someone eats even less than you do.” Combeferre chuckled. “That is true.”

Together, they regarded the piles of books in the room. Combeferre’s brother had been in the middle of reorganizing their collection, and haphazard heaps still littered the floor. “Tell me,” Enjolras said. “Along with scaling walls to enter your property and displaying an aversion to using shelves, does your family have other... unique practices?”

Combeferre only rolled his eyes. He picked up the nearest book. It was an old sketch book, one of many that he filled with designs of wings and balloons. A flicker of a smile appeared in his lips. His gaze rested at Enjolras.

“If you would not mind a little exertion soon after traveling, you can help me with putting these back together.” Enjolras placed his hands at his hips. “By author or by date?”

“By subject, first by fiction and nonfiction, then separated by field.” After a while, he added, “Unless it is Condorcet. The Condorcets must stay in one place.”

They removed their coats and immediately set to work. Come dinner, Combeferre’s mother found them on the floor, each with a book in hand, and Combeferre narrating the Battle of Tours.


End file.
